


Denethor - mementos

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Characters - Family Dynamics, General, Subjects - Culture(s), Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2004-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denethor’s life seen in glimpses through the eyes of a retainer. An answer to the Challenge <a class="bodylink" href="http://www.henneth-annun.net/challenge/entries_view.cfm?NGID=197">"Son of Ecthelion"</a> to construct a less grim Denethor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

2971 T.A. – 8 years - Apprentice  
  
I saw them riding down from the citadel, tall men they were, towering on horses. They looked like brothers, black hair sun-glinting, fair faces sharp-boned, the White Tree of Minas Tirith emblazoned on their breasts. One looked kindly around, taking in the streets and the crowds as though they were anew to him, the other looked sternly at the milling people as if taking their measure. A hush went through the crowd. I heard them whisper “Thorongil … Thorongil and Denethor”.  
  
I turned to my father “Which one is the Steward’s heir ? And who is Thorongil ?”. Yet he could not answer me, for he too was a stranger to the Tower of Guard. My father had entered the seven-tiered city today for the first time only to give me into the Steward’s service. He asked one of the gawking bystanders and I heard the man speak “Thorongil is one of our captains newly come from Rohan.” We wondered why a warrior from Rohan looked like a Numenorean of old and swiftly became part of the whole town rumour-mongering this question without reward.  
  
The one on the ram-nosed roan looked here and there and appreciated all around him. He was said to be Captain Thorongil. The other, Lord Denethor, sat on a snaffle-biting bay and appraised the crowd. Now they rode knees touching and spoke quietly between themselves leaning one to the other. Our eyes never left the two riders as long as we could see them above the milling crowds riding down with leisure the winding stonework gorge.  
  
Later, avoiding the glaring sun in the shadows of arcades and walls, we followed the circles of Minas Tirith up to the seventh and asked the sentinel where to find the Lord Ecthelion.  


  
2979 T.A. – 16 years - Squire  
  
Reaching the heir’s chamber I called softly, fearing that our lordling was asleep. “Come in.” the Lady Finduilas answered quietly. She sat at the loom and smiled a welcome at me. Her large dark eyes left my face and fastened at the child sleeping in the alcove’s shadows. I went to her loom placed in a puddle of light beneath the small window. Her thin hands still pressed down the beam on the weft and the shuttle lay in her lap quivering while she suppressed a cough. Silently I set the sack filled with dyed wool she had asked for beside the loom and admired her weaving.  
  
She used more and stronger colours in her weavings as usually seen in Minas Tirith and her angular patterns included animals not seen in the flowery designs of the north. One could lose oneself in those intricate traceries of flowers and leafy tendrils but I preferred the strong-coloured angular animals from the south in remembrance of my mother’s weaving.  
  
Suddenly the curtain flew aside and the Lord Denethor stormed in. Lady Finduilas left the loom and went to the alcove where her lord had slumped in the shadows. As I hurried to the door I heard the child stirring. Turning to draw the heavy curtain tight I saw the Lady Finduilas cradle her lord’s face in her hands and stoop to kiss him. Lord Denethor reached for her and sighed “Oh Finduilas”.  


  
2988 T.A. – 25 years - Knight  
  
She was so light when we carried the bier to the House of the Stewards through the morning’s mist. Her living children followed us silently, I heard their footsteps in the gravel only from time to time when we halted. Our Lord Steward’s sword hilt was clinking against the scabbard’s supports, his step sure and hard. When we retreated from the bier at last placed in the large stone coffin, we saw their stricken faces, frozen, large-eyed. Lord Denethor held them close, Faramir’s face pressed against the scabbard, Boromir’s face ivory-pale as the Horn of Gondor at his throat. Then the Steward slowly sank to his knees and clasped his children close to his heart. Three raven-haired heads leaned together.  
  
We left them alone to take leave from mother and wife, let them lament for both Finduilas and child, too small the daughter to breathe. Later the people of Minas Tirith would come.  


  
2992 T.A. – 29 years – Knight  
  
One night watch slowly nearing its end I saw my Lord Denethor leaving Ecthelion’s Tower. Grim-faced, he wakened a squire and sent him to fetch a messenger. Frowning my Lord paced the court. When at last the messenger arrived, panting, Lord Denethor gave him a piercing look and held out a sealed scroll agleam in a torch light. Blushing the messenger took the scroll covered by numerous seals. My Lord spoke urgently, “This message has to reach the Captain of the garrison in Cair Andros as fast as possible. Select a second messenger as reserve and choose as many horses as needed. Go now, make haste, and do not spare the horses.” The man bowed briskly and swiftly vanished into the night.  
  
Weeks later we heard of a battle in Nindalf, where an army of Orcs and Easterlings perished in bogs and mires driven into the marshes of the Entwash by forces of Gondor and Rohan.  


  
2994 T.A. – 31 years – Tutor  
  
Clad in thick padding and weighed down by mail and shield Faramir went through the moves of defence to secure legs and sword-arm against my thrashing. He was fast, he was lithe, yet he seemed not engaged. I called him to attention again and again for I feared to hurt him more than need be. From nearby I heard Lord Denethor calling for the messenger Dorgond. And suddenly Faramir began to take interest in the play of attack and defence. My shield reverberated from his blows and I laughed aloud wishing his father would call always for somebody in our vicinity when Faramir had to practise.  
  
When I said so to my Lord in my evening’s report he laughed silently and promised to come to the practise grounds for the next few weeks to rouse his son’s mind to the art of warfare. Many a morning thereafter my Lord Denethor stood in the shadows of the arcades for short periods, often stern and appraising, sometimes smiling. As our lord came at will and only during those few hours he could afford Faramir never knew when to expect him. His battle-skills improved tremendously.  


  
2999 T.A. – 36 years - Tutor  
  
Coming in from the cold after a long ride from Lebennin it took some time until I perceived the hush in the hall. Faramir stood defiantly before the long table. My Lord Denethor seated at the head of the table looked grimly at Boromir sitting at his side. But Boromir only stared embittered down on his plate. Suddenly Faramir spoke “Please father, do not scold Boromir for furthering my wishes.” At this my Lord Denethor swiftly changed his frowning look to Faramir and father and son locked their eyes. “But my Lord Father, don’t you see? I would honour your wishes by leaving for Ithilien. Both your sons would battle then in the defence of Gondor!”.  
  
Furrowing his brows even deeper my Lord Denethor answered: “Thou art not trained for Ithilien’s secret warfare, my son. Thou art not used to fight without mail protection. Storming brashly through bushes and woods thou wouldest only endanger the forayers. Thou hast even since years far more often trained with the sword than with the bow. No use thou wouldest be for Gondor in Ithilien’s forces!”  
  
But Faramir called Galdor to his side, for Galdor was a Ranger who had spent many a year in Ithilien’s wilds: “Hear me my Lord Father, this man here, skilled in wood-craft, a survivor of Ithilien campaigns aplenty, is willing to be my tutor in Ithilien’s woods and glades. He will ward me from blunders unbeknownst and dangers unfathomed.” After a long silence Faramir pleaded, “I beg you, Father, let me take care of my bow for myself. Surely I will become a sufficient archer in time, spurred as I am by need.” Unwillingly, the Steward gave his consent at last, and only with great reluctance he let his second son go to seek honour by serving in the ranks of the Rangers in Ithilien.  
  
After some months Ranger reports lessened my Lord Denethor’s misgivings. And at Mettarë he looked with fierce pride at his two sons.


	2. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denethors life seen in glimpses through the eyes of a retainer. An answer to the Challenge ["Son of Ecthelion"](http://www.henneth-annun.net/challenge/entries_view.cfm?NGID=197) to construct a less grim Denethor.

3019 T.A. – 56 years – Guard of the Citadel  
  
  
February 26, 3019 T.A.  
  
Clad in layers of wool beneath my armour I stood watch on the wall of the City’s seventh circle. Cold mists rose from the Anduin and hovered over the Pelennor. The lower circles were shrouded in wavering clouds while a pale sun’s rays reached for Ecthelion’s Tower. From there my Lord Denethor and Captain Faramir emerged deep in debate. Of Ithilien’s defences my Lord spoke with his second son, and of Orks amassing in the east.  
  
Suddenly they halted their steps, looked up frowning, and turned their heads to the north, eyes widening. Slowly, my Lord Denethor’s right reached for Captain Faramir. On the son’s shoulder the grip became white knuckled, bruising. Yet, Captain Faramir never seemed to feel his father’s hand.  
  
Long they stood there, dark statues linked, staring northwards into the void, rigid-faced, wide-eyed. When they began to stir again they moved even closer together, looking silently at each other, grey eyes locked, blanched faces grim.  
  
Days later Lord Boromir’s horn was laid into the bowed Steward’s hands.  
  
  
  
March 10, 3019 T.A.  
  
The shadow had risen over Ithilien. Darkness crept stealthily into our minds, and there was naught we could do but look into our own hearts for strength and resolve.  
  
The Captain of the Guard had sent me to our Lord to deliver a sealed scroll come from Pelargir. I found Lord Denethor in his chamber, his far-ridden battle-weary son sitting drawn-faced beside him. My Lord debated hotly Captain Faramir’s judgement to send the Ithilien Rangers to strengthen the garrison in Osgiliath. And he found offence in Lord Faramir’s glances to Mithrandir. Only then I saw Mithrandir standing silently aside in the shadows, shimmering in white robes. Me thought again our Lord was easily angered in these days of hovering darkness. Now he scolded his son for having yielded a mighty weapon to an unknown halfling only to play the gracious lord.  
  
I waited still for a quiet moment to fulfil my errand, when suddenly Lord Faramir asked if his father wished that his sons’ places had been exchanged. My Lord agreed, adding that Boromir would have shown better judgement than Faramir, that instead of squandering irresponsibly what fortune gave Boromir would have kept Gondor’s survival foremost in his heart had he been in Ithilien. There Captain Faramir’s restraint gave way and he recalled, that it was his father’s decision overruling other counsel which sent Boromir on the perilous quest instead into Ithilien.  
  
Amongst the men of the Guard it was said that my Lord ever thought Captain Boromir the more malleable and less headstrong son. Moreover, today our Steward was beside himself with anger. I thought that the presence of Mithrandir and his support of Lord Faramir’s judgement only increased our Lord’s annoyance with Lord Faramir’s ever so self-willed decisions to heights unknown heretofore. When Mithrandir argued that the mighty thing they had spoken of would have overthrown my Lord himself, I caught my breath, seeing the baleful look my Lord cast at Mithrandir.  
  
But thereafter my Lord Denethor grew quiet and spoke, “ _In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still have the hardihood to die free.*_ ” Then the Steward turned to his Captain and they discussed the garrison in Osgiliath. After Captain Faramir left I gave the scroll into the hands of Lord Denethor. I have never seen our Lord berating any man as intemperately as he did his own son on this dark day.  
  
* _LotR, RotK, The Siege of Gondor_  
  
  
  
March 11, 3019 T.A.  
  
Since days we turned our eyes ever northward. Fervently, we all hoped that the Riders of Rohan would arrive in time, that they would ride to our aid and keep the Oath of Eorl.  
  
When the Council ended in the late morning, we heard of the Steward’s decision to hold Osgiliath for as long as our out-companies could stay the Enemy’s onslaught. Captain Faramir and all the other captains had judged Gondor’s forces too weak to hold the ruined city for any success, but our far-seeing Lord asked Captain Faramir to lead the defence of the river passage at Osgiliath. And Captain Faramir obeyed the Steward’s command. He took with him as many men as were willing or dispensable.  
  
We saw the wisdom of Lord Denethor’s decision when the fugitives from Cair Andros came streaming into Minas Tirith, strengthening our defences. Yet, in the end, our out-forces failed to hold the Rammas Echor until the Rohirrim could reach us. But Captain Faramir was there, staying the flood of enemies, rallying his men again and again, and by his endurance alone, brought back two thirds of them to Minas Tirith. The Steward had weighed his captains and had found no other who could have done greater deeds.  
  
  
  
March 14, 3019 T.A.  
  
The Steward’s heir lay on his death-bed in a chamber of the White Tower, the one man who would have given us hope brought low by Southron arrows. The Steward was not seen again in hall or court after Captain Faramir was laid in his father’s bed. Messengers asking for word of our Lord’s will went away answerless. They told of a rambling father’s despair, an old man watching grey-faced as his son drowned in feverish dreams. The dark shadow over Ephel Duath was waxing as was our fear. Our Lord had abandoned us in his grief, and we were left leaderless.  
  
  
  
March 15, 3019 T.A.  
  
Never will I forget the fires raging, devouring our Lord.  
  
All hope he had lost, and now longed only for death unsullied, for himself and his son. “Bring wood, bring oil! – Gondor has failed! Minas Tirith will burn! Mordor spills out Morgoth’s creatures, the Haradrim minions march, the black ships of Umbar sail hence unhindered. We will all burn. All lost, all for nothing! – For vanquished Gondor I squandered my sons. – But the last I will save! At least the last I will save from the Enemy’s pranks. No one shall take my son ever from my side again. - He is burning already. I will not wait for the Enemy. Why do you tarry? Hasten! Build the pyre!” Utterly forlorn in black shadows no thought he gave anymore to his people. Us, his servants, he used as his hands and feet to hasten his end.  
  
Oil and wood he wanted and oil and wood we brought him. Having ever obeyed all his commands, we did not refuse him now. He was our Lord, ever faithful to Gondor, providing for all our needs. He was our guardian, who used the seeing stone to his peril - we later heard - to widen his view, to deepen his knowledge, to reveal secrets concealed. He was our protector, and seeing all threats and dangers he strengthened again and again - just in time - our battered defences at the borders of Gondor. He was our head, as we were his body, his limbs, bound to do all his bidding.  
  
No hand did we lift to save the lifeless Captain Faramir, each of us waiting for the other to disobey our lord’s wish. With pounding hearts roaring in our ears we stood frozen, weakness in our knees and minds. In the end, it was only Beregond who dared to counter our Lord’s command, slaying faithful brothers-in-arms who did our Lord’s bidding. Only his love for Faramir, striving against duty, was strong enough to conquer obedience, only his love could overcome pledge of faith and oath of fealty, though he knew – as we all knew - that in doing so, he forfeited his life.  
  
For the rest of my life I will mourn my own heart’s weakness, that without any argument I abandoned my former pupil helpless in his despairing father’s hands.  
  
Late-arrived, Mithrandir tried to sway my Lord from taking his life, reminding him that his people were in sore need of a leader of men and that the bitterest of all battles had already begun, yet our Lord only scorned the wizard and lit the pyre himself towering over his son.* Unable to change the father’s iron will to take his son with him Mithrandir leapt onto the pyre and bore Faramir out of the flames.  
  
When the devouring fire leapt wildly to the ceiling we fled the House of the Stewards, left our Lord moaning in the flames that swallowed him, the flames dancing in the Palantir.  
  
  
\-----  
* movie!verse


	3. Author's notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denethors life seen in glimpses through the eyes of a retainer. An answer to the Challenge ["Son of Ecthelion"](http://www.henneth-annun.net/challenge/entries_view.cfm?NGID=197) to construct a less grim Denethor.

Comments:  
1) Many heartfelt thanks for beta-reading to nrink. All errors and faults yet to be found are mine.  
2) I tried to use book!verse throughout. But in the pyre scene I succumbed to movie!verse to describe Faramir’s rescue because the book version is much longer and of higher complexity than I wished to use here in this ficlet.  
  
As a time-line for Gondor I use the culture of the Roman empire around 350 A.D.. I read so many fics with medieval settings that I began to wonder why I felt them not to agree with my impressions from LotR. Then I read Tolkien’s letters, naturally with my selective mind-set, and I found many hints which I thought were more in agreement with my imaginations. Tolkien gave various hints in his letters where he saw Gondor in Mediterranean history. Thus I will use Tolkien’s letters as a guide to find a time-window in European history that could spawn my imagination.  
  
Tolkien compared in his Letters Gondor to Byzantium (Letter 131), ancient Egypt (L211) and the Holy Roman Empire with Rome as capital (L294). IMO the Holy Roman empire is the Christian Roman Empire not of German nation, but the decaying Christian Roman Empire before the emperors court was moved to Ravenna (402 A.D. in the end stages of the Christian Roman Empire). But even if one compares Aragorn's enthronisation to the beginning of the Holy Roman Empire of German nation we are only in 800 A.D. (coronation of Charlemagne as emperor of the Romans).  
  
My imagination is spawned when I use the echoes of European history in late-antiquity. In a work-in-progress essay I investigate my arguments for a time-window around 350 A.D.: Tolkien’s hints on Byzantium, ancient Egypt, and Holy Roman Empire with the capital Rome, ‘Homeric’ horsemen and Scythians, chain-mail and Anglo-Saxons, the necropolis Rath Dinen and ‘Stoningland’. From this background I can better build scenarios in my mind which I feel in agreement with LotR. Other fanfiction writers might find another view more interesting.


End file.
